What If The Potter Movies Had Post-Credit Scenes?
by Mr. Cobrah Thunderer
Summary: Have you, like me, ever wondered what it would be like if The Potter Movies had post-credit scenes a'la The Marvel Cinematic Universe? Well, now you can! See Lucius' morning routine! See Sirius finish a crossword puzzle! See Peter awkwardly run into an old boss! See ***** cameo! See Snape get a beer! See Voldy fart around Diagon Alley as a boy! Do it before Thanos erases half the u
1. Chapter 1 - The Sorcerer's Stone

A/N: _My rule is that I have to connect the original book to the next in some way without giving away too much. Only one scene will be written per book. Intentional comedy will be minimal, you want to see a baby whomping willow dancing, check out the first end credits scene in Guardians of The Galaxy Vol. 1. Additionally, Deathly Hallows already has a scene at the end that ties things up already via the epilogue, therefore it will not be featured, so I'm going from Sorcerer's Stone to Half-Blood Prince. Enjoy!_

You are the camera. You awake from a deep sleep, dress yourself, and exit your room, eager to start the day.

You stride powerfully throughout your home, passing many statues and portraits as you do. Your home is luxurious and decadent; a testament to your considerable riches and status. Some may question your decision to fill it with seemingly meaningless trinkets, your house is already a piece of art. You are reminded unpleasantly of your father-in-law, the bloody hypocrite. As if every action he himself took somehow became reprehensible when you performed the selfsame action. It boils your blood.

You catch a glimpse of yourself scowling and instinctively compose yourself, thinking of what your own father would say if he saw you like this; petulant and obsessed with the opinions of men far too stupid to comprehend, far too callous to care, or both.

You can practically hear him groan audibly as you express your frustrations and exclaim loudly; _Thank goodness your mother isn't around to hear this! My son, thirty-eight years old and still so much like a child. "Here's a little tip, son: you want the approval of this girl, start with a pair of clippers. Your girlfriend is going to get jealous; that hair is getting longer than hers every day!"_ This was usually followed up by a hearty guffaw and slap on the back.

You didn't hate your father exactly, on the contrary he had been a great teacher in the way the world _truly_ worked behind the scenes, provided for excellent and witty repartee, and was decent enough to put a fair amount of father-son time aside whenever his schedule allowed for it, so all in all he proved to be a more than adequate father. But you do wish at times he had decided to settle on someone to act as a true mother figure. Since quite a few of his dates were around your age (if not lower), that made the idea of asking them for advice on how to ask a girl out or how to maintain a healthy relationship kind of moot.

Your mother and he were married until you were about six, before she left due to negligence. He went through his girlfriends like a starving man goes through a buffet, stopping here and there to enjoy a dish before moving on, enticed by a new flavor, and move on, his old meal quickly forgotten.

Perhaps this is why you value your wife so much; she is the - as the Chinese say - "yin to your yang." Even if you don't say it as much as others might, you DO love her dearly. It's not as if you don't show her it, if you had it your way your son would be taught the value of the galleon by hand and earn more rewards based on his actions, but she insists upon spoiling him. At least he has a good handle on how a little sweet-talking can close business transactions, you suppose.

Speak of the devil, you see your son out of a window, catching a brief glimpse of him walking down the path in the garden with one of his school friends (Nott's son, perhaps? Lord, if so Nott isn't feeding his boy much if at all, is he…?). You suddenly recall your son telling you something about a sleepover with a friend last night, it must have slipped your mind. As they chat, a new batch of white peacocks you personally breeded not too long ago mill about, picking at the ground for food and displaying their tail feathers in the hope of impressing a mate.

You pick up a bit of the boys' conversation as you pass by. Something about a broomstick, and how he's going to try out for The Slytherin Quidditch Team once he returns to school. You smile; ever since your wife told him about her old days on the pitch the boy had wanted nothing more but to learn how to fly a broom properly in order to impress her. Perhaps once his marks come back, you'll see about getting him that broom he wants so badly.

You continue on to the dinner table as your cooks are busy preparing you an omelet, absentmindedly retrieving your copy of _The Daily Prophet_ from your House-Elf as you do. Snorting dismissively at an article about Ministry raids (no doubt caused by that doddering twit, Arthur Weasley), you flip through the pages and are surprised to find an article that actually mourns for the recent death of your father-in-law. What happened to objective presentation of information in the news, anyway?

That can't be right! You check and yes, the article is actually filed under "Obituaries" and not "Humor." Those idiots at _The Daily Prophet_ clearly have no idea what they're doing, that newspaper clearly needs a firmer hand to steady it. You order your House-Elf to remind him to draft a letter asking if it would be legal for your company to purchase _The Prophet_ , or if you would have to give up _Witch Weekly_ in order to do so. After you've had caffeine, of course. You usually do your best thinking after caffeine.

Finding the daily comic strip detailing the (mis)adventures of _Martin Miggs, The Mad Muggle_ insipid as usual yet still amusing enough to make you snort your goblet of refined pumpkin juice through your nose, a headline suddenly catches your eye: _"Hans Santino, Isabella Zabini's Latest Beau Found Dead In Liverpool, Muggle Involvement Suspected."_

The discovery that Isabella Zabini's boyfriend had been found dead wasn't much of a surprise; that gold-digging black widow scared the hell out of you. But it couldn't have been her, these kind of "accidents" only happened to men with more money than sense, and only when the prenup had been signed; what the hell did Zabini have to gain by killing some adult entertainer who survived off tips? While she could have framed a Muggle for it there was the small fact that Madam Zabini had been in Cairo with her son at the time Hans Santino was last seen so by all indications a Muggle had killed a Wizard with something called a "gun" and got away with it scot-free!

Merlin's beard, this was a big deal! This was a call to arms! Your Death Eaters must be contacted immediately, proceeds should be arranged to be given to the family, a press conference should be made, Fudge should get his Aurors on the case immediately and chuck this cowardly assassin into Azkaban post-haste, as for you, you should… should… this isn't on the front page.

You flip back to the cover story desperately, you had barely glanced at it before amid a huge yawn; apparently the editors of _The Daily Prophet_ found the story of an unflattering autobiography written by some muckraker more important the muggles killing wizards in the dead of the night. And this biography is about… Oh, no. Not her. Anyone but her. Not… not…

" _Princess Di Gets Slammed In Tell-All Book - How's She Taking It?"_

Oh, this is the last straw. This is too much. Being proud of one's country is one thing, but THIS!? Supporting the royal family is stupid, they're a bunch of stupid muggles with no real power other than smiling and waving! Interest being piqued by The Muggles going crazy is one thing, but to continue to follow any scrap of news about them is nothing short of insane! No self-respecting witch or wizard should do that, and yet here it is, staring you in the front page! This is madness!

The fluctuating state of the economy, current relations between The United Kingdom and every other country in the world, the political and economic ramifications of _The Muggle Protection Act_ on the upper and lower classes, a pure-blood wizard being killed in broad daylight for all to see, even Martin Miggs' fruitless quest to prove magic is real to his nosy neighbors all have to be pushed out of the way because some ditzy Muggle school-teacher are more relevant?! AUUUUUGGGGHHHHHH!

You angrily tear the newspaper to shreds, using every angry curse word, every foul declaration you know within your vocabulary, and storm off angrily. This is easily one of the most nonsensical, idiotic, pointless, INSULTING things you have ever seen in your life, and that includes Rodolphus Lestrange!

But as you stride back to your bedroom in order to go back to bed and wake up a few hours later in the vain hope that this was all just a bad dream, you stop in your tracks and realize that there really is no excuse for being so angry. Tapping your foot and scowling, you realize that you should have really seen this coming. Muggles are getting more and more powerful through the government's inactivity all the time and their progressive sophistication of weapon-based violence. They need weapons in order to take down your kind; the brutes. Won't let them go, they only make more and more to prepare for a war that isn't coming! As if we'd fire back with such primitive weapons, you have no need of a - a "gun," _you are the gun._

You scoff. _What happened ever since The Dark Lord fell? Muggle governments are developing weapons of mass destruction known as "nukes" that can level an entire city with one bomb, but we care more about if the patterns of the pillows we pass out to muggles are pleasing! Although, that being said, I'd very much enjoy them trying to kill us all in one fell swoop with the push of a button, only to see their precious nuclear weapons be sent back to them like a paper aeroplane._

 _And that blood traitor, Weasley wants to protect them with laws, and the world seems to agree with him nowadays… Ironic, better protecting a people full of weapons with a law rather than these nuclear I suppose it is true what my father told me, the pen truly is mightier than the sword..._

Suddenly, it hits you! A beautiful idea - a wonderful idea! One that'll kill two birds with one stone! Hopefully more if all goes to plan. As you reach the secret staircase and crawl deep into your cellar, only one thought reverberates around your head.

 _Ok, you insignificant muggles, blood traitors, mudbloods and the like, you wanna go "nuclear?"_

And finally, you reach the decades-old diary belonging to one T.M. Riddle you've been saving for years and years.

 _Let's go nuclear._

 _ **Thanks For Reading! Five More Chapters Are On Their Way. Be Sure To Let Me Know What You Guys Think About This Story. Love You Guys! :-)**_


	2. Chapter 2 - The Chamber of Secrets

A/N: There actually is a post-credits scene for the film adaptation of _The Chamber of Secrets_ that already exists. I'm not kidding, look it up!

Azkaban. How does one describe it? Dark, dank, terrifying - no shortage of negative adjectives will suffice. It is often said one shouldn't judge a book by its cover. Now, usually this is an important maxim to adhere to. After all, how many of my most positive relationships started out from humble places? However, I would argue that the covers of novels are specifically designed to inform the reader of what they are in for, otherwise people would get confused and drop the novel they are reading in disgust, and that is the case with Azkaban.

On the inside, there are swarms and swarms of the filthiest, most hateful creatures in the world. And Dementors occupy the area as well. Not that Dementors aren't rightfully hated and feared, but you have to do something especially terrible to warrant time in Azkaban.

Now, if you, say, shoplifted a blood lollipop, cheated on your taxes, or sold stolen cauldrons, you'd probably get sent somewhere else, it's not the best situation but hey a plea deal is a plea deal. You'd probably get out in a few months, one year at the most, max, maybe even do some community service instead. However, you torture a married couple to insanity in the name of a dead man, use any of the three unforgivable curses without expressed consent of The Ministry, or sic a basilisk on Muggle-Borns? Yeah, even your well-compensated lawyer is rooting against you.

But wait, you must be asking. _"Surely, all these dangerous minds in the same place must lead to chaos, right? There must be a couple of crooks smart enough to figure out how to escape such a wretched place._ Well, you'd think so. The prison is the most heavily guarded area in all of The United Kingdom. Dementors scattered throughout, guards take shifts, and solid stone walls backed up with the most powerful enchantments in all the world. So despite a veritable criminal syndicate ripe for the plucking, the inmates stand no more chance than a bread crumb stands against a seagull. The only ways to get out of Azkaban are as follows:

A.) Get pardoned. Unlikely.

B.) Get time off for good behavior. Difficult, but not impossible.

C.) Snitch. Up in the air. Depends on how good your intel is.

D.) Commit suicide via starvation and spare yourself the agony of another day surrounded by Dementors, murderers, and prison food. Likely.

So, why then was it Prisoner ᛈᛉ-390, one Sirius Orion Black, age thirty-three, able to do so without doing any of the above? This was the question brought up again and again among his fellow inmates during yard time, each theory crazier than the last.

" _I heard 'e apparated out of a crack in the wall!"_

" _Naw, naw, Janice told me he had an accomplice from the outside!"_

" _Three words: crumple-headed snorkack."_

" _It's a conspiracy! Fudge just faked Sirius' escape so he could justify the budget for this dump!"_

But all these stories had one thing in common: what it was that set Sirius off. His neighbor of five years, Prisoner ᛈᛉ-389, one Michael Scarn, known to his friends as "Prison Mike" had this to say.

"It was the night that Fudge visited. My boy, Sirius asked him for his newspaper all casual-like, said he missed puzzlin' over the crossword. Figure he wanted to show off in front of the guys and all. Seemed to enjoy readin' it, asked me for some help with da "Muggle Sports" questions at one point. Y'all know I'm the mad O.G. when it comes to hockey, so's I helped 'im out and he says thanks and wishes me a good night. Seems totally cheerful and stuff, right?"

"I woke up in da middle of da night on account of my bladda' and had to take a whiz. But just as I got back to my bed, I heard him mutterin' about these people I ain't neva hearda before - it was like he wuz a kid again, talkin' about his family and stuff, y'know, like we all do. But then, it gets real intense. He starts talkin' more and more about the day he was arrested, then just kept on repeating the same thing over and over again _"He's at hogwarts, he's at hogwarts -"_ never seen 'im like this before in alla my time here!"

"Then he like gets up and I heard strange, somethin' guttural, like - like - animal noises or something, dude's scramblin', I heard him tearing through the newspaper again. I think he just realized what he saw or somethin', like he passed somethin' over before and only realized what he saw a few hours later. I asked him if everything was OK, he said it was no big deal. Got kinda solemn, thanked me for hangin' out with him and stuff, give my regard to the rest of the guys on the block like he's goin' off to war or somethin'. Next thing I knew, when he woke up he was gone. That's what I tol' The Ministry, an' that's what I'm telling youse guys."

"Personally, I think he's gone off to finish what he started. Seemed pretty angry last time I heard from 'im. Never woulda took him for a Death Eater, though, he always seemed pretty decent. You never know, though, with some guys, I guess. One day you're best pals wit' someone then BAM he sells ya, yo' wife, ya wife, ya kid over the river to You-Know-Who and Azkaban don't even faze 'im, disappears likes he's Houdini. Dem's the breaks!"

Whenever someone asked what made Prison Mike so sure Sirius had escaped in order to extract revenge on Harry Potter, he took a long puff off of his cigarette for dramatic affect, he enjoyed working a crowd.

"I wondered da same thing, too - drove me near crazy tryin' to piece it together. Since da Aurors took the newspaper for evidence, I had nothin' to go off of. First thing I did next yard time wuz scramble to Janine and trade the last pack of smokes that Hagrid, gave me and a good snog for the edition Fudge had. Didn't mind the snog, personally, but hated givin' up the smokes - it was worth it, though, boys an' girls, I saw the answer riiiigggggghhhhtttttttt here."

It was at this point Prison Mike held up the front page to display a picture of a sheepish-looking blonde man being escorted by healers in white robes.

 **Lockhart Sent To St. Mungo's By Family For Own Safety - Fans Devastated! Has The Fad**

" **Lockhartmania" Run Its Course?**

 _By Alissa Benson_

 _Sad news for witches everywhere. On top of an expedition within The Chamber of Secrets going sour and multiple allegations surfacing regarding the misuse of memory charms, the formerly beloved author seems to have lost his grip on the world, and has been released to the custody of St. Mungo's by his family. For the last year, Mr. Lockhart has been working at Hogwarts as Professor of Defense Against The Dark Arts, teaching many students such as Harry Potter-_

 **Harry Potter.**

Harvey Potter.

Harold Potter.

No - Harry JAMES Potter.

James.

Harry harry harry harry harry harry harry HARRY AHAHA he's at hogwarts he's at hogwarts he's at hogwarts he's at hogwarts

 **HE'S AT HOGWARTS!**

 _ **Thanks For Reading! Four More Chapters Are On Their Way. Be Sure To Leave A Review Or Sirius Black Will Get You. Love You Guys! :-)**_


	3. Chapter 3 - The Prisoner of Azkaban

You are the camera. You are running as fast as your feet will take you through the forest, pushing far past your endurance until you are absolutely sure your heart will go into palpitations if you do not take a few moments to rest and stop there, breathing heavily, clutching a hand to your chest.

You are hungry! You need to eat! You need to sleep for more than minutes at a time! The Dementors are surely coming for you, but if you stayed quiet and still when they searched the house, perhaps they wouldn't think to look! Dementors only attack humanoid creatures, you remember Remus telling you something about that once. Perhaps they wouldn't even acknowledge you, see you just another animal.

After all, it worked for Sirius.

It's settled! You'll go into the village, get some food and sleep in a hidey-hole for the night and in the morning resume your travels to Albania. It's all settled. Look, there's even a clothesline by that farm over there! You can even get some new clothes, you've been wearing the same outfit for twelve years. Alice Lewis, bless her soul, who could relate to being a little heavier as well, (she was so, so, _so_ nice), had always told you stripes were slimming, but years of being magically disappeared had caused it to age terribly. These were spring colors when you bought them! Pity the straw hat had been lost in the blast, your mother loved that hat…

No, wait, that's right, Alice Lewis is Alice _Longbottom_ now, she changed it when she married Francis. That fat boy in master's dorm is her son! Oh, how you wish you were back in The Gyffindor Common Room! Breezy and bright in the spring, gorgeous and flush in fall, warm and cozy in the winter… And master always had a ready supply of candy, and no matter what happened, whether it was a good day or a bad day he _always_ shared a bit with you!

You get a little sad. You remember that one time Rosier gave you a black eye for talking back to him when he said something nasty and awful about Alice (got what was coming to him, the misogynist!). Alice found out you stood up for her and gave you a box of taffys and told you he was wrong, you deserved to be a Gryffindor all along. That was the best day of your life! The closest you ever got to kissing a girl other than Mother...

It had broken your heart to hear what Sirius' maniac of a cousin had done to her, nearly blown your cover that day. Your former master, Percival, had to wonder why his rat was shedding so many tears, it was if he had succeeded. You had tried to throw The Dark Lord off the trail by giving him the name of a abandoned safehouse and it succeeded, otherwise Alice and her husband and son wouldn't have survived that Halloween night. But in the end your efforts had been in vain, The Dark Lord's reach was simply far, far too long reaching, even after his supposed death.

Now, Mother had taught you that if you had something nice to say then don't say anything at all, but Sirius had given the all-clear to say as many bad things about his family as you cared to comment on years ago and Sirius' cousin was a special kind of crazy anyway, so it gives you guilt whatsoever to say that she is the textbook definition of a conniving, self-absorbed, spiteful BITCH!

 _*Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr*_

NO! SIRIUS HAS FOUND YOU!

You gulp fearfully, turn around slowly in the grass, and see your aggressor. While Sirius transfigures into a german shepard and the dog growling at you is in fact a border terrier, your relief quickly fades into fear once again. The border terrier is in defense mode, angrily baring her teeth, furious to see an invader and most likely perplexed to see a rat walking on its hind legs.

Squeaking rapidly about how you were talking about ANOTHER bitch and not her, you run with all your might to the nearest hidey-hole right by the door. Feeling the heat of the border terrier's breath on your back and doing your best not to fall apart when a hot, disgusting drop of drool flops out of mouth and splashes next to your leg, you only BARELY make it in the crack in the door. You hear an almost comedic yelp as the dog's head bumps into the door, but you're far too scared to laugh.

Heart pounding even faster than usual (rat hearts beat remarkably fast in regards to other animals, you remember reading that in the Muggle library near Mother's house after discovering your animagus form) you prop yourself up against the wall and wheeze ceaselessly, clutching your tiny heart in your paws. You can still hear the growling and sniffing of your pursuer, but she seems to give up as she wanders off, apparently convinced she drove you off and doesn't bother to go through the doggie door on the other side of the house to make sure, which is what you would have done if you had the ability to turn into a dog as well.

Your whiskers are trembling something fierce, and you finally open your eyes after they were screwed up in fear for so long and take in your surroundings. You're in an old cottage where a family of four live judging by the photos on the mantle, and it looks like the kids are at school and both parents are out of the house at the moment. To your relief, there is no picture of a cat alongside the dog, so you're safe for now. *Phew!* That was a close one. You may have only recently developed a distaste for man's best friend, but you NEVER liked cats, even before you became an animagus. They made your eyes water, and were so uncaring to those that love them and their butts look weird and they're so cruel to their prey, ugh!

You scurry your way to the top of the pantry and help yourself to the contents of the refrigerator. Food used to be the only reliable constant in your life, IT never tried to bully you or call you names or try to kill you. Now, after the change, you'll never be able to unsee the horrors the rat poison industry has wrought upon your less-discerning brethren. Muggles truly were as vicious and cruel as The Dark Lord said they were!

If rats could blush you'd be doing it now; how The Dark Lord's minions had mocked you when you brought this point up during one the meetings. Those insults still haunted you to this day; only the other Marauders could call you a "rat bastard" because you all were mates, it was all in good fun. And it just sounded nasty and wrong when those big, bumbling brutes referred to you as Wormtail! Smiled creepily like the cheshire cat from the muggle book _Alice in Wonderland_ when they said it, and leered at you like a garden snake does before it gobbles you up in one bite. Still, it did make you happy to see your old tormentors get their just deserts when you tipped The Order and your friends in The Auror Office off about a few key members within You-Know-Who's inner circle.

Thank goodness Mother taught you occulmency, not even Snivellus could figure out what was going on in your head. The fool still blamed Sirius all these years later! Is he still mad about . And also wash his hair, the slimeball.

Thankfully, the junk food pantry seems pretty safe, so you decide to dig in. Soon, you'll be your old self again! Hopefully. With time. Maybe even better?

As you chew on your stolen cheese doodles you realize something rather unpleasant about yourself: you're acting just like the old teacher of master Percival and master Ronald, what was the name of the man with the turban - ah yes, Professor Quirrell! Former Muggle Studies teacher turned into yet another Defense Against The Dark Arts catastrophe, it figures he didn't stay around for long. Scurrying everywhere, scared to speak up, jumping at small noises, well, that's just fine, you're a man on the run, Professor Dumbledore surely cannot be so foolish as to not send out a few of his spies in search of you. But cowering in front of a mere animal as Quirrell did whenever presented with an adversary such as a wimp like Snivellus, well, that's just foolish.

Oh, how you miss Hogwarts! Other than Mother's house and The Burrow, it truly was a home a many ways from home. Aside from the food, which if anything has gotten better since you were a boy, was (for the most part) a safe haven against the hurly-burly of the life you left behind, and a important place to roam the halls and find out any and all major developments that occurred which may prove pertinent. It was there you saw old Snivellus being informed by Professor Dumbledore to keep an eye on Professor Quirrell as you were snooping around your favorite perch in a crack in the stones within Dumbledore's office, and as such decided to keep an eye on Mr. Quirinus Quirrell as well.

It was while on your trip to Egypt with the rest of The Weasley family that you were being shown a tour of the sarcophagus that suddenly everything seemed to click. The former Muggle Studies teacher returning to school with a turban he seldom wore in the past. His mention of travelling to Albania coinciding with Professor Dumbledore's theory that The Dark Lord resided somewhere in that country. The account Potter gave about seeing The Dark Lord on the back of Quirrell's head. The phantasm that had burst out of Lucius Malfoy's diary one year ago, it all pointed to one crucial thing: The Death Eaters losing the war was not your fault after all. The Dark Lord had not died that fateful Halloween night. _He was alive._

Or perhaps it was all madness, and you are drawing conclusions where none exist. Either way, you are a man without a country; hated by your friends and likely to be hunted by your former enemies should they discover you still live. This is your best shot at being protected and safe once again, for good. You have been thinking far too much like a rat for the past twelve years, you realize. A common mistake most animagi face; enjoying one's form so much it completely takes over your judgment. Or has it? After all, when rats are backed in the corner, don't have a place to flee… rats fight. Even when they know they're going to lose, they bite and scratch as much of their enemy as they can, to make absolutely sure their killer remembers them.

But first, you've got to take care of that dog. Munching the last cheese doodle as if you're ripping its throat out with your teeth, you wrap your body around a broom and slide down, plopping onto the floor as you skitter back to the crack in the door. You squeeze through once more, and see your old tormenter licking her water bowl not three feet away from the door. You pick up a pebble and toss it at her with all the might in your tiny body; it bounces off her ear with just enough force for them to stand straight up in a flash and she turns around to see the rat she thought she had chased off earlier, and bolts over to you in a flash. You aren't afraid. You're a Gryffindor. You stand your ground.

And suddenly everything around you is shrinking and your below-average human strength returns to you as you are now towering over the dog, hands on your hips, glaring down, eyebrows raised at this impudent canine in front of you, unwilling to back down. The dog yelps, shocked to its core at the development, howls for its master, and bolts to the back of the house to hide inside and pretend this whole thing never happen.

"That's right, you better run, you big bully!" you squeak angrily, shaking your fist angrily and kicking the air. "You go and tell your other rat-catchers to watch out for The Wondrous Wormtail, BITCH! Ahahaha! Oh yes, that's right, I went there. No need to thank me, fellow rodents, no need to fuss, the monster's gone… it's not a big deal, just another day on the job..."

That was amazing! You must have looked SO cool doing that! Flush with barely contained glee, you sneak behind the sheets drying out and try on some of the clothes the father wears. What luck! You're a similar size, no doubt thanks to the excellent selection of junk food in the pantry. It pinches a bit in the waist, but it'll do. And with that, you're off to Albania once more.

Yes, you are a coward, you gladly admit it, but cowards survive. Cowards live to fight another day. Cowards know when the time is right to strike. As you scurry off into the night, anytime you grow too tired or too frightened to carry on, you continue on because of the beautifully twisted, dark fantasy that is fermenting within your brain. You pull off this amazing feat, and your name will be in all the history books forever, be rewarded beyond your wildest dreams, and finally be safe once more.

But best of all, you'll be able to do the one thing not even Lucius Malfoy, or Snivellus, or Igor Karkaroff, or - or even _Bellatrix Lestrange_ could ever hope to accomplish: bringing The Dark Lord back into this world. If only you could see all their smug faces fall when they see what all your hard work has wrought. And that thought spurring you on, you smile, despite the fearful journey that lies ahead. And you hum that song that played at the beginning of last year's start-of-term feast as you disappear into the dead of the night.

" _Bubble, Bubble / Toil & Trouble / Fire Burn and Cauldron Bubble / Double, Double / Toil & Trouble / __**Something Wicked This Way Comes!**_ _"_

A/N: Hey guys it's a very very special day for a very special writer on this site, so I'd like to take a second of your time to spotlight the writer Colbiwest. Colbiwest always takes the time to read and comment on my stuff and we always engage in long, interesting conversations afterwords, and it really means a lot to me.

And since I just wrote a Wormtail story, it only feels fitting I plug a really good Marauders story on her end. I heavily recommend you all check out _James Potter and The Sword of Gryffindor_ , I personally consider it to be the definitive Marauders origin story and that user's best work (so far! ;-). AND already has a sequel out and is working on a third one, so yeah their work ethic is pretty spot-on.

Happy birthday, Colbiwest! Thanks for being a fun reader, writer, and above all long-distance buddy. 3

James Potter and The Sword of Gryffindor:  s/12621822/1/James-Potter-and-the-Sword-of-Gryffindor

Phew! Finally at the halfway point. Next time on " _WITHPMHPCS?,_ " things go from bad to worse. Be sure to _**review and follow**_ if you like where this story is going, I love hearing from you guys! :-)


End file.
